


To Claim Possesion

by SomewhatByronically



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, just drunk making out, not sexual content though, somewhat questionable consent thanks to alcohol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 11:36:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3690786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomewhatByronically/pseuds/SomewhatByronically
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>There’s only a perfect moment, when the music quiets and it seems that near every conversation in the room lulls for no apparent reason.  A perfect moment for chance to embarrass the new, very inebriated, King of Dale.  It’s in this moment that a voice rings out, deep and clear...</p>
</blockquote><br/>In which drunk!Bard makes a mistake that turns out in his favor.
            </blockquote>





	To Claim Possesion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bereniceofdale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bereniceofdale/gifts).



> Hey! Finally back after a bit of a publishing dry spell thanks to the Barduil Big Bang. Here's a fic to the TFLN prompt challenge. My text was:
> 
> (774): i just walked into a room at this party and someone yelled "dibs!"...
> 
> ~Enjoy!
> 
> P.S. breathingbarduil you're a megacutie.

Thranduil pulls his shoulders back, settling his hands clasped together at his waist and takes a deep breath.  He steadies himself, turning to a mirror lined wall and reaching to slightly correct the alignment of his crown.  It bears the shoots and new blossoms of spring; it’s a dainty but elegant thing.  Thranduil hopes that it has taken away from his ability to intimidate because if this past week was anything to go by, it’s either that, or Thranduil has completely lost his edge.

Thranduil studies himself carefully in the mirror.  There’s a faint flush high on his cheeks, and the slightest of tremors in his hands that any man or dwarf would mistake for normal.  Though, he can’t hide anything from the elves in attendance.  Or Bard, but that is another matter entirely, what with Bard paying him personal visits every evening for the past week, so innocently concerned for the Elvenking’s well-being.  Thranduil is hardly the Lady Galadriel and the stress of having the new King of Dale as well as the new inhabitants of Erebor in Mirkwood for diplomatic talks may have ruined his sanity.  Especially because the only diplomacy that the Elvenking has had to execute for the last two centuries has been murdering spiders and avoiding Smaug.

So with the negotiations, formalities, and sad attempts at cooperation over with and the post diplomacy party well underway, Thranduil did as Mirkwood elves do.  He drank.  He drank copiously and freely.  So maybe the slight sway in his balance is from stress, but, if one is being honest, it’s from the 3 or 4 barrels of wine that Thranduil has managed to put away all by himself this evening.  

Looking back into the mirror, Thranduil stares himself down and blinks a few times, trying to will himself sober (or at least the appearance of sobriety).  Otherwise, he’s thankful for the effects of the wine, tamping down his temper and keeping him well-behaved for just half a day more with these insufferable dwarves.

He turns his head too quickly to the sound of a child’s laughter and he’s confused momentarily before his particularly slow thoughts catch up and remind him that Bard brought his children along to this business.  Earlier in the evening, Tauriel had spirited them away from the increasingly rowdy celebrations and Haldir had followed on her tail, somewhat like a platonically lovesick puppy.  Haldir had no eyes for Tauriel and Tauriel still had eyes for no one, but since the arrival of the Lorien elves, they clicked instantly, comparing notes and sharing stories about their ridiculous jobs.  Initially Tauriel had only taken Bain and Tilda, but Sigrid, being of-age, had stayed behind for an hour or so.  She eventually realized the upsides of being of-age (drinking and fantastic parties) came along with some pretty convincing downsides (all of the uninvited romantic overtures) and politely excused herself to join her sister and brother in a bit of juvenile lightheartedness away from responsibility while she still could.

It’s their father’s laughter, ringing through the halls, that brings him out of his staring contest with his own reflection.  He thinks fondly of the newly crowned King of Dale and how well Bard had taken to the new position of King, however far removed it was from his previous position of town Bargeman.  He thinks back to the many discussions of the week and Bard’s natural skill with negotiation.  Diplomatic negotiation can’t be all that different from the haggling that Bard did as a merchant with his barge. Thranduil observes though, that despite the fact that kings tend to be a bit more sedentary than bargemen, Bard still fills out his new tailored garments in all the best ways.  Thranduil takes a deep breath, clearing his mind the best he can before walking back  into the party before anyone can miss the host.

He opens the door the hall with a gentle push.  The people at the edge of the room part as they see the Elvenking stride into chaos, surprised by how sober he seems.  Thranduil smirks in their direction, lording his advantage over them.  The mix of Dalemen and Dwarves and a few elves turn their stares away and return to their conversations.  There’s only a perfect moment, when the music quiets and it seems that near every conversation in the room lulls for no apparent reason.  A perfect moment for chance to embarrass the new, very inebriated, King of Dale.  It’s in this moment that a voice rings out, deep and clear, “DIBS!”

The music dies abruptly and everyone turns to see where the voice came from, even four dwarves who were previously wrestling on a banquet table have stopped mid-motion and are whipping their heads around, trying to see what everyone else is looking at.

Following the stares with his own eyes, Thranduil is led to a... _somewhat_ expected sight.  Expected, because he would know the voice of the King of Dale anywhere.  Unexpected because because even with Bard’s dark skin, there is an obvious full-body blush creeping onto his cheekbones and out to his fingers.  Thranduil is taken for a moment when Bard grows impossibly redder upon noticing the Elvenking’s gaze fixed upon him.  Through the haze of the wine and suppressed... _feelings_ ,Thranduil can’t help it when a smile, a real smile, affixes itself to his face.

Bard becomes unstuck before Thranduil, and as the music and revelry starts up again, Bard makes a quick escape; a few of his closest advisors parting the crowd before him.  Thranduil realizes that he has a stupid grin on his face and upon regaining his composure he looks down and sees an assortment of dwarves and men gawking at him.  He glares daggers at every one of them and in doing so, he notices a few elves that are doing their very best to look like they hadn't been looking at him.  His little… infatuation might go over the head’s of men and dwarves, but it’s never been a secret from those of his own kind.

There are a few elves though, that are simply unafraid of Thranduil and they make a point of staring and smiling at him now.  Thranduil quickly resolves to pay these guests a visit to find out exactly what they find so amusing.  As he ambles towards them, stopping every once and awhile to entertain or speak with a party guest, they remain unstartled and they seem encouraged by his approach.  Their smiles only draw wider as it becomes obvious that he is approaching them.

Thranduil clears his throat before speaking, “And may I ask what so greatly amuses the Lady Galadriel?”

The Lady smiles back at him, her cheeks reddened slightly by the wine, “Thranduil, so kind of you to join us.”

Elrond smirks as he replies, “Yes, it is such a pleasure Thranduil.”

Thranduil stares expectantly at the his guests who have so artfully avoided the question.  The Lady laughs, a clear and pleasant sound like the clear streams in Mirkwood.  She motions towards Elrond as she responds, “Lord Elrond and I were just pondering the diplomatic... advances that have occurred this week.  Speaking of,"  The Lady paused, "don’t you have a guest to check on?”

Thranduil drew back, unsure of how to reply.  Hesitating before speaking, “Yes, I will return.”

Thranduil departs The Lady and Lord Elrond without another word and makes for the door that Bard let himself out of.  Pausing with his hand on the handle, he turns back to see that Mithrandir has joined them.  They seem to be talking about something with great urgency.  Elrond tries to point furtively in his direction, but when Mithrandir turns to look--Thranduil must be mistaken because--it looks like Mithrandir is…  giggling?

 Thranduil shakes his head and puts thoughts of foolish elven lords and unsettlingly powerful vagabonds out of his mind.  He pushes into the hallway, looking down both ways down the corridor.  To his right, he sees Bard staring out into the night on an open-air balcony.  Thranduil’s keen hearing can tell that Bard is muttering about something underneath his breath, and from the intonation of his voice, Thranduil can tell that Bard is embarrassed.  He smiles as the obvious possibilities for why the new King would be embarrassed about calling "dibs" on the Elvenking.

 Sure, Bard may have just been embarrassed about making a fool of himself at a diplomatic event, but Thranduil has other ideas and he hopes that it's not just him projecting his affections onto Bard.  He walks quietly towards his bargeman turned king and as he draws closer, the words Bard is muttering grow clearer.  He becomes more and more optimistic as he snatches phrases from the air such as, "ah, I'm an idiot." and "Like he'd ever want me!"

Thranduil is being loud for an elf, but Bard doesn't notice as he approaches and arranges himself directly behind the human.  He's close enough that if Thranduil wasn't careful, Bard could feel Thranduil's breath on his neck.  He inhales, taking in the earthy scent of the mortal.  A scent that is now marked with undercurrents of his forest and his wine.  Already, before Thranduil's even taken him, Bard is his.  His alone.

Thranduil centers himself.  He doesn't wish to scare the mortal away before anything's even begun.  He forces himself to put a few more inches between himself and his intended before speaking.

"Do you know how stressful it is to play host to dwares?" Thranduil's voice has been deepened slightly by wine and desire and Bard gasps as he turns around.  His eyes dart about and his pupils widen in a feeing akin to fear, and in that moment, Thranduil thinks that he looks much like an animal caught in a trap.  

"N-no," Bard stammers out before adding, "my lord."

Thranduil leans out of Bard's personal space, he doesn't wish to take what he desires by force.  He is still close enough to trail his hand down Bard's arm, and his hand twitches as he prevents himself from acting on this impulse.  He clasps his hands behind his back and looks into the night over Bard's shoulder, "Yes, the manners of dwarves are only as atrocious as their supposed hospitality."

Bard relaxes slightly, but still stutters, "I-I wouldn't know my lord."

"No, but you will learn," Thranduil says hopefully.  He pauses and then turns his gaze back to Bard, " Would you permit a personal question?"

Bard pauses, unreadable for a moment.  An odd smirk takes his face.  "Yes my lord?" he replies, a confident air entering his words.

Thranduil returns the smirk and queries, "Dibs on what?"

“Well,” Bard paused, thinking over his response.  “I meant no disrespect my lord, I was simply overcome a compulsion to,” Bard stopped to ponder his next words carefully, “make a very advantageous claim.”

Thranduil calculated his next move for a moment before taking on a serious tone, "Dragonslayer, have we not just established how stressful it is to deal with dwarves?"

Bard replied his confidence wavering, "Yes, my lord?"

Thranduil blinked slowly continuing to smirk, "Then you're telling me,” He paused to drag his eyes appreciatively up and down the form before him, “that I could have been blowing off steam all week?"

Bard gasps subtly his mouth falling open and pupils widening at the insinuation.  They have finally come to an understanding.  Bard smirks again, "Will you permit a personal question my lord?"

Thranduil only has a moment to nod his assent before Bard grabs hold of the front of his robes.  Before he can protest for his disrespected wardrobe, Bard has pulled them together, crushing their lips in an inelegant and heated kiss.  Thranduil can taste his wine on Bard’s lips and and he feels Bard’s tongue impatient at the seam of his lips.  His control is quickly slipping away and in a last moment of resistance, he plants his hand on Bard’s chest and pushes him to arms length.  His gaze drops naturally down  and he lets his eyes linger momentarily on the Dragonslayer’s obvious arousal.

He looks to Bard’s eyes, now entirely black save for the thin ring of his irises, and holds his gaze saying, "I want you sober."

Bard whimpers and turns his face away as if simply looking at Thranduil is too challenging to his resolve.  Thranduil chuckles and moves his mouth to Bard’s ear to whisper, “I want you to remember every blessed second.”

More of the whining noises that Thranduil is becoming increasingly fond of slip from Bard’s mouth.  Thranduil pushes Bard away and he chuckles again, turning and walking back towards the hall.  He pauses, door pushed ajar and looks back to Bard, “I will see you in the morning Dragonslayer.”

**Author's Note:**

> HMU on [my tumblr](http://somewhatbyronically.tumblr.com) with a prompt. :)
> 
> -Ada


End file.
